


PLAY. 11-btvs-ats-ucsl

by iskierka



Category: Angel The Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:20:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iskierka/pseuds/iskierka





	PLAY. 11-btvs-ats-ucsl

Title: Play  
Author: Briar o0briar0o@yahoo.com  
Rating: PG  
may2001  
Disclaimer: And the schtuff burgeoned forth from the  
Whedon-brain. And the fanfic writers played with them  
in a giddy, drunk way. Borrowing and happy.  
Summary: Darla & Dru. candles and cake.  
Notes: why? because they were in my head. darkish. and  
in BAIland it's the listmommy's birthday.

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

 

Dark waif is dancing to the bells in her head.  
Flitting about, lighting the candles atop the very big  
picture-box.

"The chiming chimera chases the crackly kangaroo  
through the chocolate fields."

"The TV's off, Dru."

Dru smiles wickedly. "Mmm. The chum sticks to your  
teeth. And the corncob crackers are with the colored  
elephants down the chute."

Darla backslaps the air in irritation. "Dru, shut up!"  
She continues pacing. 

"All prickly smooth."

"I can't hear myself think."

Dru plays with the ruffles on her shirt. Laughs  
delightedly. 

"I can. Grandmum." 

She sidles over to where Darla stands, crossing the  
space the angry blonde is obviously trying to create.  
Approaches from behind to look at the pastel blue,  
stiff shoulders, touches the knotted shoulder blade,  
*feels* the tension build as she traces an S with her  
palm to snake around Darla's waist. 

"Bonny tot."

Darla's voice is frozen nitrogen. 

"Not now, Dru." 

Full of- anger? The pictures are *very* pretty in her  
singing noodles. Laugh builds, bubbles over.

"What. Is. It."

Drusilla looks around the lovely romp room that the  
one-handed orange-flavored man had given her. Such  
beautiful, thick purple drapes. And the lovely  
paisley, pink sofa. Like marshmallows. Pink like blood  
after rain. 

"You're not a lemon," she'd told him very seriously.  
He'd nodded sagely in turn. Lovely eyes. Yes, Dru is  
very satisfied. She smiles. Like a Cheshire cat. Ooh,  
Alice. Pink and purple, looks for the tape-box, but  
that'll do later. Claps loudly, smacking twice and  
with drama. The lights go off.

"You haven't got any virtue, mummy. It'll be lovely  
tonight, you'll see. We'll have us a big ball. All  
sparks and new demons to play with. Crunchy."

Dru nuzzles Darla's cheek. Traces upwards the round,  
soft curve. Her hands are winding their way around the  
other woman's waist, hips, to reconnoiter the flat,  
barren belly...She's begun to hum. 

Darla hates this, Lady with the serf, keeps herself  
immobile just the same. Beacause she can't move. And  
she knows it. Her eyes almost flash tiger, but Dru's  
already there. Dru with her sharp, pointy teeth  
nipping at her earlobe, as Darla is a statue. Darla is  
the doll.

Now Drusilla faces her completely, grasps gently with  
both hands the entirety of her baby's angelic  
features, angelic features cut in stone and just as  
cold. Cold like her. And Dru's smile is nothing if not  
vengeful, barest thinning of her lips compressing into  
a hard line as the human feautures settle while Darla  
hasn't changed. And Dru peers closer 'til her forehead  
touches grandmum, who's so pretty. And so quiet.  
Thrumming blood between them's getting louder though. 

Like the elephants. 

Dru shakes her head back and forth, back and forth.  
Laughs depravedly, because the elephants are in the  
watering hole and it isn't made of chocolate! 

"They're called eskimo kisses." Rub, rub. Rub, rub.  
Continues to laugh, low and fantastically amused. 

"Eskimo kisses for such a bonny baby."  
Dark eyes are stormy. She's pinning the butterfly, the  
ice queen can't cry. 

"I want sprinkles."

And to Darla it seems as though the thrumming is  
building in her ears, Drusilla's laughter a  
surrounding buzz that's getting louder, louder...it's  
going to drive her mad. She grunts and pushes her  
incest-nonchild, because it's getting so LOUD and the  
borrowed blood she's just stolen is stirring as though  
her veins were about to vomit-

"No!" 

A foot between them, and Drusilla's slap is very  
forthcoming, now grandmum's on the floor. Oh, dear.

"You will get your teacakes," Dru hisses. Kicks.  
Imagines she can taste it, sweet and fluffy in her  
tongue and down her throat. Looks down at the frail  
blonde. Sprawled across the marble. Like frosting. And  
Darla does.

 

-fin


End file.
